


Home Is A Feeling (Home Is Where You Are)

by ebi_pers



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: F/M, House Hunting, Moving In Together, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24590920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebi_pers/pseuds/ebi_pers
Summary: Ricky and Nini host a painting party, their friends help them move, and they discover that home is more than just a physical place.Or, the one where Ricky and Nini find an apartment and move in together.
Relationships: Ricky Bowen/Nini Salazar-Roberts
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89





	Home Is A Feeling (Home Is Where You Are)

**Author's Note:**

> At long last! I've been working on this one shot for the better part of a few weeks now, and it just kept growing and growing into the piece you see here. I'm a sucker for domestic Rini, and I know many of you are, too, so I'm very excited to present this piece to you. This is meant to be canon-friendly, but I suppose it's semi-AU as well.

Kourtney opens the door within seconds of Nini pushing the doorbell. Her hair is wrapped in a bright purple silk wrap and she’s breathing heavily. “Hey,” she greets, steadying herself against the doorpost and turning a bright smile to Nini and Ricky. 

“What happened?” Nini asks in alarm. 

Her best friend rolls her eyes. “Raymond’s dogsitting his girlfriend’s puppy and the damn thing decided my mom’s new throw pillows would make great chew toys.” 

Nini smiles sympathetically. Kourtney’s brothers have always had a habit of making messes, and she’s always been the one picking up the pieces. It was a small miracle that Raymond and Winston managed to survive while their older sister was away in New York. 

“Where’s Raymond in all of this?” Ricky questions, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. 

“Sleeping,” Kourtney grumbles, standing aside so the couple can enter. “I swear, as soon as my mom’s done helping you two find an apartment, I’m her next client. I gotta get outta here.” 

“We’re accepting applications for a third roommate,” Nini suggests playfully, wiggling her eyebrows.

Her best friend fixes her a look. “Nice try, but I’m not into the whole third-wheeling thing,” she deadpans. An agitated bark from somewhere deep within the house causes her to sigh. “Mom’s in her office. You know the way.” She starts toward the noise. “Ray-Ray! I swear to god if you don’t get your damn dog…” 

“Nini! So good to see you!” Kourtney’s mother greets them the second they knock on the frame of her office door. Nini easily accepts the warm hug she offers. Ever since preschool, Kourtney’s mom has been like a third mother to her, and she’s referred to her as Mama A for as long as she can remember. “And Ricky! Come here, sweetheart, you get a hug, too!” 

“Hi, Althea,” Ricky grins. 

A moment later, they’re seated on the plush, white chairs across from Althea’s desk. She shifts her keyboard and mouse over and pulls out a memo pad. Her pen is poised in her left hand. “Alright, so why don’t we start with some of your must-haves and wishlist items? And don’t be afraid to be picky. There’s plenty of rentals available in Salt Lake City and I refuse to let two of my babies accept anything short of their dream first apartment.” 

Nini ponders for a moment, chewing her lip thoughtfully. She and Ricky had gone over their must-haves multiple times since they made the decision to move in together, refining the list each time. But her mind goes blank now, with Mama A’s pen hovering above the blank, milky page. All she can think of is the dream home of her childhood: a home concocted in her imagination after one-too-many viewings of  _ Snow White  _ when she was five years old. A cottage deep in the forest, made of gnarled, bare wood and plaster with a curved red roof curiously resembling a toadstool. The shutters would be green, and there would be a window overlooking the garden with a sill perfect for cooling pies. The yard would be encircled with a low fence, and hummingbirds and butterflies would flutter from flower to flower. There would be stools made from tree stumps and a low wooden table with enough room for all of her friends to have a tea party. Ricky and Kourtney and Big Red, all dressed in their finest fairytale regalia. 

There are no forests in Salt Lake City, but she can still see vestiges of that cottage in her ideal apartment. She pictures a small place, cozy and vintage, with big picture windows and a small balcony. The kind of place where the summer breeze filters into the room, rustling the curtains gently. She imagines a large wall in the living room where they can hang a bright painting. Ricky will drill the brackets into place and she’ll stand back and tell him “a little to the left” until it’s no longer crooked. She pictures a bedroom with green walls and yellow pillows and a fluffy comforter. She dreams of white-painted cabinets and a small oven so that she can bake cookies with Ricky, swatting his hand away each time he dips his finger into the batter to steal some. 

It’s impractical, she knows, and highly unlikely that they’ll find a place like this. So she looks up at Mama A and says, “I’m easy. I just want it to be close to the university so my commute’s not too bad. And it needs to have enough closet space for both of us, and room for my keyboard. And ideally, I’d like to have a washer and dryer either in the apartment or in the building.”

Kourtney’s mom writes Nini’s wishlist down in her immaculate script, the black ink flowing from her pen in a fluid line, looping and whirling around the page. When she finishes, she sets the pen down, folds her hands, and smiles at Ricky, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “And what about you, sweetie? What’s on your must-have list?” 

Ricky sits up straighter in his seat. It was so easy to come up with their must-haves and like-to-haves when they were sitting in Nini’s childhood bedroom, the laptop open between them on the bed two nights ago. But now, with an actual realtor sitting before them, prepared to make their dreams come true, he finds himself unable to think of a single thing. His thoughts revert back to the place he imagined when he was still in college. Back when Nini was still hours away at UCLA and he was living with his dad in the house he grew up in, dreaming of the day she would come back and they could make a home of their own. 

He’d always pictured someplace spacious and lofty, with double-height ceilings and wood floors and cool leather couches. He pictured big, bright windows with floor-length blinds that could retract during the day to let the sunlight pour in. He dreamed of a big kitchen with stainless steel appliances and brick backsplashes, where he could finally learn how to cook properly so that when Nini came home from a long day of grad school, dinner would be ready and she would kiss him on the lips and tell him that it smelled really good. He imagined a place with assigned parking, so that he wouldn’t have to circle the block when he got home from work and Nini wouldn’t have to walk very far when she returned in the evening. He dreamed of an open concept floor plan, so that all their friends could come over, spilling from the kitchen to the dining room to the living room without ever leaving each other’s sight. 

But he knows what he’s dreaming of is probably impossible to find on their budget, so he settles for, “I’d just like something in a safe neighborhood with parking. Ideally not too far from work, and with enough room for a couple of guitars.” 

Althea finishes jotting down their requests. “I’ll tell you what, you sure aren’t picky,” she chuckles. “Let me see what I can find in your price range and I’ll send you some listings tonight.”

* * *

“Are you sure this is the place?” Nini asks, leaning over to survey the building through the windshield as Ricky maneuvers the car into a parking space. 

“Pretty sure,” he says. “This is the address Althea gave us, anyway. And look. There’s a ‘for rent’ sign out front.” 

“Yeah,” Nini murmurs distractedly, taking in the sight of the apartment building before them. The drain pipe, green with algae, sags under its own weight and at least two units have boarded-up windows. The gray brick facade makes the entire structure appear solitary and mournful against the overcast sky. “I don’t know about this one…” 

Her boyfriend turns to her and shrugs amiably. “We came all this way. May as well take a look, right? Who knows? Maybe the inside will surprise us.” 

She bites her lip for a moment before conceding he may be right. Mama A wouldn’t show them a place if she thought it would be a waste of time. Nevertheless, she can’t escape the sense of dread that washes over her at the sight of this building that looks a little  _ too  _ similar to a Twilight Zone set. 

A white Mercedes pulls in beside them and Kourtney’s mom emerges, immaculate as ever in a pink-and-purple floral blouse and a Coach bag in the crook of her arm. The scent of her floral perfume wafts toward Nini as she steps out of the car.

Althea folds the couple into a hug. “Okay, so before we go inside, a few things to note,” she says, gently shepherding them toward the entrance. “It’s definitely not as pretty as some of the places I sent you. But it’s only half your budget and the location is amazing. You’re right in the middle of Salt Lake City. Everything’s within walking distance! Just… Be prepared because there’s some work that needs to be done before a tenant can move in. The landlord already assured me that he’d have everything taken care of before you sign anything, so don’t pay too much attention to the current shape.” 

She grunts as she pulls open the lobby door and holds it for them. The scent of mildew and stale cigarette smoke is immediately apparent and Nini wrinkles her nose as her feet pad over the coarse, fibrous gray carpet. Mysterious stains line the edges where the floor meets the baseboard, yellowed with age. Ricky glances up and notes the missing ceiling tile above their heads, casting a nervous grin at his girlfriend. 

“The unit’s on the fourth floor,” Althea says, stepping carefully over a particularly large, brown spot on the floor. “And you’ll notice that there’s an elevator, so move-in will be a breeze!” She pushes the call button twice before it lights up. A creak echoes in the elevator shaft as the machine groans to life and eases down toward them. Nini steps nervously inside, a chill running down her spine as the lift takes them up to the fourth floor.

“You alright?” Ricky asks, his hand warm and firm at her hip. 

She swallows and nods. “Yeah. Just… It’s kinda chilly.” 

“Here,” he sheds his hoodie immediately and holds it out to her, but she shakes her head, unwilling to admit that the shivers were fear-induced, not temperature-induced. 

The fourth floor is lit with a series of dim incandescent bulbs that hang bare over their heads. Nondescript gray doors line either side of the hallway. A television, tuned to a courtroom drama, plays loudly behind one of them. The scent of cooking mixes with the stale, musty odor. 

Althea leads the way to the end of the hall, where a lockbox is attached to the scratched brass doorknob. She inputs the code, removes the key, and unlocks the unit for them. “Go ahead,” she encourages, her smile just a little too tight. 

Nini enters first, fumbling along the wall for a lightswitch and groaning when her hand makes contact with a sticky patch. When the light comes on, they get their first look at the apartment. The floors are the same coarse, gray fiber as the hall, marked with the same mysterious stains. The walls are papered in a jaundiced shade of yellow, except for the bare patches where the wallpaper has peeled. The room is cold and dank.

“Oh,” Ricky murmurs, stepping beside her to take in the living room. 

Althea sweeps up behind. “Remember, a lot of this is going to be fixed before you move in,” she reminds them. “Look how spacious the living room is!” 

Nini takes a hesitant step forward, an uneasy feeling settling over her that raises goosebumps on her arms. Ricky instinctively closes his hand around hers. 

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs softly. 

“How can they possibly fix all of this by the time we move in?” Nini whispers back. “Unless they cut corners.” 

“My dad already offered to inspect everything before we sign the lease,” he reassures her.

They venture further into the apartment, trying their best to ignore the yellowing wallpaper and disconcertingly moist carpets. The tension in Nini’s body doesn’t escape Ricky’s notice, and he squeezes her hand in a familiar, one-two-three pulsing pattern that reminds her that he’s beside her, solid and steady. “What’s wrong?” he whispers as they peek into the bathroom. The white and green tiles are fractured and split, jagged edges poking out in deadly spikes, and the grout lines are black with mildew. A ring of rust encircles the shower pan. 

“This place is like a horror movie,” Nini says, strengthening her grip on Ricky’s hand. 

He chuckles. “C’mon, Neens, it’s not that bad,” he tries to reassure her. “I mean, yeah, the place needs work but I don’t think it’s haunted.” 

Nini does her best to laugh it off. It’s ridiculous, she knows. Ghosts aren’t real. Except for the one that perpetually haunted the attic in her lola’s house growing up, knocking over boxes and making the ceiling creak nightly. But as they continue their walkthrough, she can’t tamp down the sense of dread that starts to fill her. It begins at the base of her spine and runs up her back. She tilts her head inadvertently, a cold sensation running through her veins. 

Ricky glances at her suddenly, acutely aware of how clammy her hands have become. He leans into her, his breath warm and his voice soft. “We don’t have to stay any longer if you don’t want to,” he says. Haunted or not, he’s made up his mind, too. Even with his dad’s help and contracting expertise, the apartment will take months to rehab. While their timeline isn’t urgent - his dad has made it clear he’s welcome to stay at home as long as he needs, and her moms have said the same - they’ve already spent four years of undergrad apart. The thought of waiting any longer to begin their lives together is unbearable. 

“Why don’t you keep looking?” Nini suggests, trying to force the tremor from her voice. “I think I’m just gonna take a minute to catch my breath.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks. She nods, and so he reluctantly unlaces their fingers and humors her, heading for the bedroom. “Shout if you need me,” he calls over his shoulder, twisting the tarnished brass doorknob. The door creaks open after some effort, and he’s met with a dusty wood floor and exposed wiring where a ceiling light should hang. 

The bedroom is in far better condition than the rest of the house. The Band-Aid colored wallpaper is curiously absent, replaced instead with a dull coat of white paint. The floors are pock-marked where furniture has stood and been moved over the years, and the radiator is spotted with brown where the old paint shows through, but there’s plenty of natural light and the closet is deep. “Hey, Nini!” Ricky calls, “Come check out the bedroom. It’s really not that bad!”

He waits a beat for her reply, but is met only with the faint sound of Althea talking on her cell phone out in the living room. “Neens?” he tries again, stepping to the door in double-time. “Nini?” He pulls the door open and is met with an empty hallway. 

His heart starts to race. He takes inventory of the hallway. The sole bedroom door is behind him, and he knows Nini’s not there. The bathroom door is to his right, still open with the light off. He peers into the room anyway. “Nini?” 

An uneasy feeling settles over Ricky and he tries to force down irrational thoughts about ghosts and demons and poltergeists. He tries to remind himself that those things only exist in movies. He turns. The only door left is the linen closet, and neither of them have looked in there yet. “Neens?” he calls, one hand closing on the doorknob. 

The door flies open and Nini bursts from inside. “Ah!” he jumps, hand clutching his chest. “Holy crap, Neens!”

She collapses into a fit of laughter, reaching for Ricky apologetically even as she giggles hysterically. He gasps and then begins to laugh himself.

“Still think this place isn’t haunted, babe?” she giggles.

He pokes her playfully in the side. “The only ghost here is you.”

Hand-in-hand, they rejoin Althea in the living room. “Don’t tell me,” she says, holding up a hand. “This place is a mess, and I wouldn’t want you in here even if you told me you loved it. Honestly, they really need to update the listing photos because it didn’t look nearly this bad online,” she tuts. 

“On to the next one?” Ricky asks. 

Althea laughs. “Why don’t you guys go to lunch? I’ll email you with some better options.” 

* * *

Nini squints at her laptop screen. The harsh backlight stings her eyes and the text starts to blur into a singular, indistinct line. The blue-light-blocking glasses seem to have no effect. Mama D sets a steaming cup of green tea in front of her. 

“Keep squinting like that and you’ll have wrinkles before your thirty,” she says jokingly. 

“Mom, I’m a Ph.D. student. I’ve already got wrinkles.” 

“School work?” her mother asks.

“Worse,” Nini replies. “Apartment hunting.” 

Mama D peers over Nini’s shoulder at the listings. “What happened to the place you saw today?” 

She snorts. “If only you’d been there. I feel like that place needed to be condemned.” 

Her mom combs her fingers through her hair, hitting a snag and gently untangling it. “Don’t worry,  _ mahal _ . Do you know how many places your mom and I looked at before we found our first apartment? You’ll find the perfect one eventually.” 

Nini nods and hums an affirmative. She knows her mom is right, but she also knows that after four years of being in LA while Ricky stayed in Utah - four years of Friday night FaceTime dates, four years of having only summers and winter and spring breaks together, four years of everyone in her life questioning whether they could really make long distance work - she’s ready to be with Ricky all the time. She’s ready to fall asleep beside him and wake up next to him. She’s ready to come home after a long day of lab meetings and curl up next to him on the couch while he grades his students’ music theory papers. She’s ready for the life they promised each other before they went off to college. She chose to come back to Utah for her Ph.D., even though better music therapy programs exist elsewhere, because the idea of another six years of long distance was unbearable. Even now, the four blocks that exist between her house and his is unbearable. 

* * *

Ricky picks her up early the next morning and they head to a cafe to look through the listings Althea emailed them. They could have just as easily done it over FaceTime, but they’ll gladly take any excuse to be together in-person. 

“What about this one?” Ricky asks, spinning his phone around and sliding it across the table toward her. 

She takes a sip of her iced latte and wipes the condensation from the cup on the thigh of her jeans. He flicks through the photos for her. It looks like a dream. It’s within walking distance to the university, and Ricky would only have a ten minute drive back to East High, where he’ll begin teaching in the fall. The windows are large and the photos are flooded with natural light. There’s even a balcony. She chews on her straw pensively for a moment, imagining them in that apartment. Images of Saturday mornings with coffee on the balcony, of snowy winter nights huddled together, watching through those massive picture windows as the snow accumulates and hoping for a snow day for the both of them play through her mind. She nods approvingly. 

“I’ll text Althea,” Ricky says. 

* * *

An hour later, they meet up outside the building. “Thought you might like this one,” Althea says by way of greeting. “It’s a new construction, so you’d be the first tenants. And the building has a lot of amenities: in-unit washer and dryer, a fitness center, clubhouse, dog park.” Nini catches Ricky’s pleading look the moment a dog park is mentioned, and she bites back a grin. 

The building’s lobby is covered in glossy white tiles and shades of taupe. A few lime green and orange couches punctuate the space. Althea takes them up to the seventh floor. The elevator glides smoothly and silently, and when it opens, they’re greeted by gently-glowing white sconces and lush carpets. 

When they open the front door, Nini lets out a gasp of delight. Sunlight streams through the windows, just as it did in the pictures. The smell of fresh paint surrounds them and the pale wood floors and white walls give the apartment a sense of height. The floorplan is open, and Ricky easily imagines hosting Friendsgiving, Christmas, and New Years. They smile at one another and he slips his hand in hers as they make their way toward the bedroom.

The room can easily fit a king-sized mattress, and the picturesque view opens up onto the mountains in the distance. “Look,” Nini smiles, “his and hers closets.” 

Ricky chuckles as he opens the door to one, laying a hand on the metal shelf. It gives under his palm immediately and crashes to the floor with a loud bang that sends him leaping backwards. Nini’s laughter is giddy and uncontrollable. “Okay, that was  _ not  _ my fault,” he grouses, stooping to pick up the fallen shelf. “They clearly didn’t hang that correctly.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” Nini giggles indulgently.

They inspect the bathroom, finished in sleek shades of gray and white. Nini is enamored with the fact that there is a bathtub. Ricky turns on the faucet to check the water pressure, then pulls the tab to activate the showerhead. Water sprays out in a chaotic, sprinkler-like fashion, leaking not just from the showerhead but from the hose it’s connected to. Nini jumps clear of the spray, but Ricky is soaked. His curls are matted to his head and he has the good sense to shut the water off immediately before shaking himself like a golden retriever, sending drops of water in every direction. 

“That’s it,” he sputters, spitting water from the side of his mouth. “This place is cursed.”

Nini sidles up to him, teasing her hands through his damp curls and combing them out of his eyes. She kisses his lips, giggling when the droplets of water clinging to his lips transfer to hers. “I don’t know,” she says, eyes twinkling with humor, “Maybe it just doesn’t like you.” 

“Might wanna get the superintendent to come look at the shower,” Ricky says flatly when they rejoin Althea in the kitchen. 

She raises a hand to her lips to hide her smirk. “Do I wanna know?” 

“Ricky and the showerhead got in a fight,” Nini illuminates. “And you can clearly see who won.” 

Ricky can’t help the grin that splits his face. “Give me another round or two with it and we’ll see who the real winner is,” he insists. 

“I’m guessing you want to move on?” Althea questions.

Nini saunters through the kitchen, running her hands along the quartz countertops, and Ricky can tell by her expression that she’s still trying to find a way to redeem the apartment. It’s the nicest they’ve seen, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to take it too, if only to end their search and finally be together. Her hands feel across the backsplash and land on a switch, which she flips absent-mindedly. A guttural growl emanates from the sink as the garbage disposal comes to life, burbling hideously in a way that makes her fumble immediately for the switch once more. 

“That...doesn’t sound good,” she breathes. 

Ricky’s smile is shit-eating and she knows exactly what he’ll say before the words even fall from his lips. “Still think this place isn’t cursed?” he asks, nudging her playfully. 

She rolls her eyes as she shoves him off. “What’s next?” she asks, turning to Althea. 

* * *

“So this next unit is a bit smaller than the others,” Althea says as they approach the next building. “But it’s got the location you were both after and it’s well within your budget. It’s a walk-up, and you’re on the second floor.” 

The door opens into the living room, and Nini is enchanted. It’s immediately apparent that the tenant hasn’t moved out yet. Their sofa, buttercream yellow and covered in a white and pink quilt, faces the window, where gauzy white curtains refract the sunlight in soft rays that scatter about the room and paint everything gold. The kitchen is finished in terracotta tiles and white appliances. Magnets from countless states and countries plaster the refrigerator. It is astoundingly quiet, and Nini subconsciously wraps her arm around Ricky’s and leans against him. 

“Neens,” he says ruefully, his voice soft, as if the space demands quiet. “It’s too small,” he says.

She withers ever-so-slightly against him as she casts her eyes about the room and realizes he’s right. The living room barely has enough space for a couch and coffee table. There isn’t enough room for a television, let alone a keyboard and guitars. There’s no dining room, either, and scarcely room for a two-person table in the kitchen. 

He sees her face falter and draws her closer to him. “But maybe that’s a good thing, right? It would be all-the-more cozy.” He grins at her encouragingly, and he knows that if she agrees, he would gladly sign the lease just to hold onto that look of wonder that first entered her eyes when she laid eyes on the place. Space be damned. He’ll get a storage unit, or he’ll keep things at his dad’s house.

“No, you’re right,” she shakes her head. Because Nini Salazar-Roberts is nothing if not practical. And besides, no home of theirs could ever be complete without music. 

“I’ve got one more listing to show you,” Althea interjects. “And I’ve saved the best for last…” 

* * *

They are standing outside a record store. The street is busy and cars whizz past in a blur. Ricky and Nini look up, eyes gazing past the record shop awning and to the planter boxes in the window of the apartment above. 

Althea beams at them. “What did I tell you?” she says. “It’s everything you asked for. Ten minute drive to the university, fifteen to East High. In-unit washer and dryer. Plenty of space for your instruments. The parking lot on the side is available for tenants to use twenty-four seven. Oh, and did I mention that it’s above a  _ record store _ ? Shall we?” 

The couple nods eagerly and she leads them up a steep side staircase to a white door with a brass doorknob, an ornate door knocker, and the number 2 etched onto it. The door swings inward, revealing parquet floors polished to an immaculate shine. The walls are an eggshell color, and the mouldings are painted white. The centerpiece of the living room is the large picture window, framed with a silky curtain. The planter boxes bloom with pansies - riotously bright in shades of purple and yellow. 

Ricky immediately sees where the keyboard will fit and where his guitars will go. He pictures himself sitting on a couch in the living room, his songwriting book open in his lap. Nini pictures a coffee table piled high with her psychology textbooks and endless drafts of her thesis, printed so she can proofread them over and over, marking the errors in red pen and going back to correct them.

They meander their way through the apartment into the quaint kitchen with its brick backsplash and white cabinets. Ricky notes with satisfaction that there is plenty of counter space, which is good because he’s never been the neatest cook. Nini is delighted by the oven, large enough to fit even the biggest of her baking sheets. In the bathroom, with its black-and-white tile and claw-footed tub, Nini imagines succulents perched on the sink counter and Ricky envisions monogrammed towels - R and N - hanging from the towel bar. 

By the time they see the bedroom, with its his-and-hers closets and soft sunlight that filters through the window, they’re sold. Ricky knows he’s a goner the moment he starts picturing where the bed will fit, where the night stands will go, and what Nini will look like in the morning, with the sunrise streaming in, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow.

It only takes one look, one hopeful glance from Ricky to Nini to confirm. She nods at him, her hand seeking his, squeezing one-two-three times, and the sensation of her fingers interlocking with his floods him with warmth. 

* * *

Nini always imagined that finding an apartment would be the hardest part of moving in together. But she quickly comes to see that there is a lot more to figure out. She and Ricky have only ever lived apart, and bringing their two lives together carries its own set of logistical challenges. The list of items they need grows ever-longer: pots, pans, silverware, all the little things they never needed to think about - that have always existed in the homes they grew up in.

Her moms have already offered to let her take the furniture in her room. Through half-joking comments, they’ve made it clear that they plan to convert the space into an office for Mama D and a craft room for Mama C. There won’t be any need for a bed or a dresser. Not when there’s already a spare bedroom that’s fully furnished. 

“Too many guest rooms and never enough guests,” Mama C laments one evening over dinner, while Nini peruses the Bed Bath and Beyond catalog and circles things they’ll need.

She’s already decided to take the egg chair and her desk. She’ll leave the mattress. Her full-size is preferable to Ricky’s twin (which, thanks to its tight quarters, always made for some very interesting situations if she spent the night at his place), but they’ve already decided to upgrade to a bigger bed. More room to cuddle. Or to spread out, because Ricky has a habit of star-fishing in his sleep. 

Ricky’s dad has already offered them anything in the basement. It’s all leftover furniture from when Lynne moved out - things they no longer needed once they became a family of two. Ricky half-heartedly agreed to pick through the items, but she already knows he’ll find an excuse not to take any of it. He’s managed to build a shaky peace with his mother, but the sting of her remarriage and subsequent absence from his life has never fully worn off. 

They spend hours in her bedroom, the two of them huddled around her laptop screen with too many tabs open, debating the merits of a gray sofa over a blue one, of dark wood coffee tables over glass and metal. 

“We should hire movers,” she says, turning to him after completing the purchase of a fluffy white rug for the living room. “I know we don’t have a lot of big things, but it’ll probably save some time.” 

“I don’t know,” Ricky says slowly. “I think between me, EJ, Seb, Carlos, and Big Red, we could probably knock it out in one afternoon and save us some money.” 

She smirks, tracing her finger up his arm and to the base of his neck, causing him to arch his back inadvertently at the ticklish sensation. “Richard Bowen? Do I detect a hint of sexism there?” 

“Huh?”

She shrugs. “Couldn’t help but notice that you left all the girls out of that little calculation.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Fair point. I’m sorry,” he says. “But, hey, that basically doubles our numbers which means we can get it done in half the time.” 

* * *

They clear the background check a week after submitting the paperwork, and Althea meets them at the apartment to congratulate them in person. Ricky turns the silver key over in his hand, the sunlight glinting off of it. It’s weightier than he imagined it would be. He lets out a satisfied sigh as he locks eyes with Nini, who twirls her own key between her fingers. 

They mount the steps together, and Ricky inserts the key into the doorknob and turns. The click resonates in the stairwell, solid and affirming, a promise that this space truly is theirs. He hears Nini inhale sharply beside him in anticipation as he twists the doorknob and eases the door open. 

Nini lets out a giggling cry as he scoops her up and carries her over the threshold into the apartment, and even though she isn’t a bride (yet), she finds herself sinking deeper into his arms, wrapping her hands around his neck and teasing her fingers through his curls. The realization is as startling as it is comforting. This is  _ their  _ home. At the end of the day, she won’t be coming back to a dorm room and the hope of a FaceTime call. She won’t be returning to her childhood bedroom and lying down on her childhood bed while he does the same four blocks away. 

* * *

On Wednesday, they receive permission from the landlord to paint the walls of the apartment so long as they paint them back before they move out. On Thursday, Nini drives them both to Home Depot to pick out paint colors. She wasn’t aware that there were so many variations of red and orange and yellow and blue until she stood before the rows of sample cards, each printed with soft and pleasant-sounding names like “Gentle Blush” and “Springtime Lily” and “Misty Mountain Morning.” 

“Green’s a creative color, right?” Ricky asks, reaching past her and plucking a pale green paint sample. “I think I read that somewhere.” 

She leans over and reads the name. Silken Pine.

“For the bedroom?” he murmurs, leaning into her side, her hair tickling his cheek. His smile is boyish, his eyes hopeful, and even if she were inclined to veto the color, she wouldn’t be able to resist that look on his face. 

“For the bedroom,” she agrees, because she’s always imagined a green bedroom with yellow accents. 

They leave with more sample paint bottles than they can carry, shades of light blue for the bathroom, warm, pale yellows for the living room, vibrant reds for the kitchen. The only color they’re certain of is Silken Pine, and she can already picture the way it will look in the morning, when she first opens her eyes and takes in Ricky’s peaceful, sleeping form against a backdrop of green. 

* * *

Big Red begs Ricky to see the apartment every day and Kourtney won’t stop hounding Nini for a tour after viewing the listing photos on her mom’s computer. They haven’t even moved in yet, but by the fourth day after they get their keys, the group chat devolves into an endless chorus of pleas for more pictures, more videos, for “just a quick peek.” 

_ Guys, chill,  _ Ricky begs.  _ You can see it when you all help us move in, which you’ll do because you’re all awesome friends, right?  _

_ Yeah but what’s the compensation looking like?  _ Carlos sends, along with a pair of eyes emoji.

_ True, your girl’s got loans to pay _ , Gina adds. 

_ You will be paid in our undying gratitude. And pizza _ , Ricky replies. 

_ Dude, pizza? I’m there _ , Big Red answers. 

_ Your parents literally own a pizzeria…  _ Kourtney points out. 

_ Ok, but way to change the topic. When are we seeing pics???  _ Seb begs. 

_ You can see pics after we paint _ , Nini relents. 

_ Um, excuse me???  _ Ashlyn’s response is swift.  _ You’re painting and you decided NOT the LITERAL ART STUDENT??? _

_ Do I hear a painting party?  _ Seb asks. 

_ So you guys will paint for free but you want compensation to help us move?  _ Ricky questions. 

_ Duh. Only one of those things is fun _ , Kourtney answers. 

_ Speak for yourself! I don’t do manual labor for free _ , Carlos says.  _ But I do accept payment in the form of dinner and wine. Preferably both.  _

_ Deal _ , Nini agrees.  _ We supply the food, the booze, and the paint. You supply your time and your hands.  _

There is a lull in the conversation before Ashlyn finally texts,  _ EJ? _

_ I’m in _ , he types back quickly. 

_ Good, we need a tall person to help out and you’re the tallest one out of all of us. _

_ These are facts. _

* * *

The morning of the painting party, Ricky’s dad drops by, his work truck loaded with ladders and tarps and rollers and brushes. Ricky helps him prime over the checkerboard pattern of paint swatches he and Nini made across the walls before they settled on a color. 

“Gonna be weird not having you in the house all the time,” his dad confesses, passing the roller over the wall in a steady, back-and-forth  _ w  _ motion. 

Ricky chuckles. “Yeah. I mean, who’s gonna wake you up when you fall asleep on the couch and eat Oreos with you at 2 AM now?” 

His dad lets out a noise - more of a sharp exhale than a laugh - and though he can’t see his expression through the mask he’s wearing, Ricky can tell there’s something off about his demeanor. Something’s been off about his demeanor for days. “Dad, I’m only twenty minutes away,” he says, setting down his paintbrush and removing his own mask. “I’ll come back and visit.” 

Mike nods, looking around in awe. “You picked a hell of a place,” he glances around at the newly-primed walls. Every inch of the living room is bathed in midday sunlight, so bright they won’t need to turn on the lights until sundown. “This is… This is everything I could’ve hoped for for you, Ricky. This place. Nini. It’s everything I could’ve hoped for.” 

His father’s voice is unusually choked up. It’s not that his dad is an unemotional man. Quite the opposite. Ricky’s emotional tendences come from his dad’s side. But while Ricky can cry at just about anything, his father’s instincts are usually to laugh (which had been yet one more point of contention between his parents before the divorce). He’s not used to seeing him cry, and especially not when it comes to something like this. Something that should be a happy occasion. “Dad…” he murmurs, his voice soft. 

“Ah, don’t feel bad for your old man,” Mike says, squatting down to reload the roller with more primer. “You’re starting your life. You’ve got a degree, a good job, a good woman in your life… I’m happy for you, Ricky. And I’m proud of you, too. So proud.” 

Ricky’s eyes go misty and he feels the pressure of tears building as he manages a tight smile. His father’s eyes are glassy and he crosses over to hug him tightly, solidly, the way his dad deserves. For six years after his parents’ divorce, his dad has been his primary caretaker. While his mom sent tuition money and birthday and Christmas presents from Chicago, his dad was the one who helped him get ready for his high school and college graduations. When his old Volkswagen broke down, his dad was the one who drove him to class. In the weeks leading up to his teaching certification exam, his dad cooked boxed mac and cheese or ordered pizza and brought it to his room to fuel his late-night study sessions.

And now, as he prepares to take a huge step into adulthood - to move into his own apartment with the love of his life - it is fitting that it’s his dad who is once again by his side, helping him prime the walls so that they’ll be ready for him and his friends to finish tonight. 

“I love you, Dad,” Ricky whispers hoarsely. 

“I love you, too, son.” 

“I’ve been thinking,” Mike says when they’re nearly finished priming the walls. “With you moving out, it’s just gonna be me in the house. And it’s a lot of house for one person… How would you feel about me putting it up for sale? Maybe downsize to something a little smaller? A little more my size?” 

Ricky sighs. In truth, he’d been surprised when his dad hadn’t listed the house for sale after the divorce was finalized. His parents had purchased it during happier days, when the thought of more children wasn’t an unrealistic fantasy. Four bedrooms and two-and-a-half baths had seemed perfect for a growing family. But the Bowen family had done the opposite, and though they had no use for two extra bedrooms, his dad had held onto the house anyway, reluctant to uproot his only son anymore than he already had. 

Ricky has to admit that he doesn’t like the idea of his dad selling the house. Although its rooms are filled with many bitter memories of tears and fights and moving boxes, his happiest memories also exist there: making pillow forts with Big Red in the living room, backyard softball games with Nini and Kourtney and Red, nights spent around the firepit with his drama club friends. He learned to ride his bike on that street, and years later he learned to drive there, too. And while he may be moving out, some part of him has always considered - and will always consider - that house to be home. 

But he knows at the same time that his dad has spent far too long putting him first. He deserves to find a more manageable place. He deserves to no longer worry about all the maintenance - the landscaping and the gutters and the cracks that form in the driveway every few years.

He’ll miss the tree-lined sidewalk and the backyard stepping stones he and his mom made when he was in third grade. He’ll miss the cool, dank smell of the garage where all of his skateboards were stored. He’ll miss the basement, with its plush, white carpet and brown leather couch where he and Nini had their first kiss when they were thirteen, well before they decided to give dating each other a try. He’ll miss the kitchen island, where he and his dad had many conversations about the world over takeout containers, the smell of char hanging in the air from whatever Mike had attempted to cook earlier in the evening. He’ll miss his childhood bedroom: the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that have long since lost their glow, the scars in the paint where he’d taped X Games and Tony Hawk Pro Skater 5 posters, the beanbag chair that hasn’t held its shape since 2014, the twin-sized bed where he and Nini had slept the first time she spent the night. 

He knows, too, though, that memories have a way of transcending time and place. Just as he sometimes hears his mother calling him in the house they used to share, just as he can still sing every word to Breaking Free and recall every line leading up to that song number, he will remember that house and those moments. 

“Yeah, Dad,” Ricky says, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles reassuringly. “You should totally sell the house if that’s what you want. Just… Don’t move too far, okay?” 

Mike laughs. “Funny. That’s usually the parent’s line, not the kid’s.” 

Ricky laughs, too. “What can I say? I still need my pops in my life. And besides, we gotta live close enough that we can bring you leftovers when you burn dinner.” 

Mike points the paint roller at his son. “Hey, I’ve gotten better.” 

“HelloFresh has gotten better, you mean,” Ricky corrects. “It’s almost impossible to mess up their recipes.” 

* * *

The record store closes at 5. By 5:30, the parking lot is filled with their friends’ cars and the apartment is teeming with life. They come dressed in their best painting attire: jeans and old t-shirts, though Kourtney still looks runway ready. Ashlyn brings extra painting supplies from work.

“We’re a nonprofit,” she says, handing everyone a paintbrush, “So make sure we get these back in good condition or your karma’s screwed.” 

Ricky revels in the fullness of the empty space and imagines what it will be like to host gatherings. They sit on the tarps, on paint cans, on the kitchen counter. Nini and Kourtney giggle as Gina tells them about one of her many escapades as an RA. The first hour is spent conversing and laughing and  _ ooh’ing  _ and  _ ahh’ing  _ at the apartment’s various features over plastic cups of wine and paper plates piled high with Chinese food.

“Alright, kids, let’s kick it in high gear,” Carlos claps his hands, gathering grease-streaked plates and depositing them in the garbage bag. “Seb and I have early morning dance rehearsals and we need our beauty sleep.” 

“You guys don’t need beauty sleep, you’re already beautiful!” Nini calls in a jokingly flirtatious tone.

“Flattery gets you nowhere,  _ Nina _ ,” Carlos responds pointedly, smiling. “Besides, I have a boyfriend,” he gestures toward Seb.

Nini feigns offense, grabbing hold of Ricky and pressing against his side. “So do I,” she counters. 

They break into teams, giggly and a little buzzed from the wine. Nini, Kourtney, and Gina in the living room. Ricky, EJ, and Big Red in the bedroom. Carlos, Seb, and Ashlyn in the kitchen. Their voices and laughter echo around the empty apartment, their faces illuminated by the stark work lights that Ricky’s dad set up. With the shop downstairs closed and no other neighbors in earshot, they’re free to be as loud and giddy and celebratory as they want.

Kourtney complains loudly and good-naturedly when Nini accidentally drips Cornsilk Yellow on her overalls, and Nini squeals in protest when she retaliates by flicking more of the color onto her. 

In the bedroom, EJ scales the ladder and easily paints the areas where the trim meets the wall while Big Red runs his brush along the baseboard. “I could totally be a handyman,” EJ declares proudly. “Bet they’d even give me my own show.” 

Ricky rolls his eyes teasingly. “This coming from the guy who thought his sink was clogged for three days and didn’t know what to do.” 

“In my defense, I didn’t realize the drain could be closed.” 

Carlos starts up an ABBA song and begins to dance around the kitchen with a paint roller. Seb cuts in midway and the two launch into a tango while Ashlyn claps and laughs along. 

By 1 AM, the whole apartment smells like paint and they’ve opened every window to air it out. The living room glows softly and gently in its pale yellow, and the kitchen is a bold shade of red. The bedroom reminds Nini of her childhood fantasy of a cottage in the woods: green and natural, a little piece of forest dropped in the middle of Salt Lake City. 

* * *

Despite next-to-no sleep, Nini wakes up at 6 AM on the dot, a slave to the habits she’s built since high school. Her bedroom is piled with boxes, each labeled neatly in purple permanent marker: Winter clothes. Summer clothes. Shoes. Books. Miscellaneous Things From My Desk Drawer. The egg chair has been taken off its mount for the first time since her moms installed it when she was in eighth grade. The cushions lie upended beside it. There is a ring in the carpet showing where the desk legs once stood, now collapsed for easy transport. Telltale streaks of dust reveal all the places she never vacuumed. 

She sits up and slides out of bed slowly, careful not to trip over the scattered items that made up her life in this home. She takes careful inventory of the room, opening drawers and closing them, checking the closet one-two-three times to make sure she didn’t forget anything. 

“Thought I heard you thumping around in here,” Mama C says from the doorway, a white ceramic mug of coffee in her hand. She holds it out to her daughter. 

“Just making sure I didn’t leave anything behind,” Nini says, accepting the cup. The steam and the deep, earthy coffee smell invigorates her, and she momentarily forgets she’s only gotten two hours of sleep. 

“You know, it’s not like you’re moving to LA again,” Mama C smiles. “You’ll be twenty minutes away. If you forget anything, we can always bring it to you.” 

“Yeah,” Nini sighs, eyes raking over the room once more. It’s different this time. When she moved into her dorm at UCLA, she’d known it was temporary. She’d always loved the romance of a big city - until she hadn’t. Salt Lake City didn’t count. She’d dreamed of lofty skyscrapers, of subways and city buses, of strangers on the street who disappeared into anonymous apartment buildings, never to cross her path again. But those were romanticizations, and LA had never truly been home in her mind. There was never any urgency or permanence to her trips out to California, with her hatchback so full of boxes she couldn’t see out the back. There was always the promise of this house and her moms in the end.

This move is permanent. The life she will carve out with Ricky is permanent. Ricky - his smile, his curls, his guitar-callused fingers, his bright and warm and infectious presence in her life - is finally permanent. This house will be open to her for as long as her moms possess it, but she can’t be caught in-between any longer, with pieces of herself scattered across every place she’s ever called home.

At 8 AM, EJ’s Grand Cherokee pulls up to the curb, a U-Haul truck trailing behind it. Nini watches from the window, amused and nervous as Ricky’s curly-haired head leans out of the driver’s side window as he tries to line the truck up with the driveway. EJ stands behind, arms waving like a runway marshaller, calling out instructions like “a little to the right” or “cut the wheel all the way left.” 

Twice Ricky nearly backs the truck into her mother’s car, stopping mere inches from the bumper as EJ frantically shouts at him to hit the brakes. Twice Ricky has to pull the truck forward and attempt to back it in again, narrowly avoiding taking out the hedges that line the driveway on either side. 

Finally, when she’s had enough of watching the two of them struggle, she comes outside and tells them to leave the truck at the end of the driveway. She would rather carry the furniture an extra few feet than watch her boyfriend destroy her moms’ landscaping, or risk EJ getting run over. 

* * *

By 9 AM, the street is filled with their friends’ cars. They troupe dutifully in and out of the house like ants, arms filled with boxes while Nini tries to create some semblance of order. Clothes in Ashlyn’s car. Books in Gina’s. All of her school supplies in the back of Carlos and Seb’s Subaru. It takes only an hour to remove nearly every vestige of her twenty-two years of existence in this house: her keyboard, her ukulele, her bookshelves, the stacks of journals and novels and notebooks full of songs that date back to when she was eight. When they finish, they process the four blocks to Ricky’s in a curious motorcade: a bright orange moving truck and a candy-colored assortment of their friends’ cars. 

Though Ricky has fewer large items - they’re taking an old dining table and a set of drawers - it takes considerably longer to move his things from the house to the waiting cars. While Nini carefully packed her things into boxes, each clearly labeled with its contents, Ricky’s idea of packing is more akin to “throw it all in a box and hope it fits.” The result is an endless collection of half-full crates and lopsided bags. Nini wants to be annoyed with him because moving him out is taking twice as long as it should, even with an army of friends and his dad helping out, but one look at her boyfriend - flushed and a little sweaty, his curls in disarray, smiling warmly at her as he passes her on the stairs with his hands full - is enough to make her reconsider. It’s enough to make her stomach do flips. 

* * *

“Red, step to the right,” Ricky instructs. His best friend shuffles slightly. “No, your other right. Okay, good. Now EJ, tilt up your corner.” He cries out in alarm as EJ hoists the table up, nearly snatching it entirely from his hands. They rotate it onto its side and bring it toward the doorway, stopping when it becomes clear it won’t fit. 

“Maybe if we tried turning it diagonal?” EJ suggests. “It would probably clear the doorway if we angle it just right.”

“Can we figure it out quick?” Big Red pleads. “Because it’s starting to get heavy and I need to pee.” 

Ashlyn sighs, sweeping her hair from her face as she approaches with two boxes full of clothes. “You guys do know that you can take the legs off, right?” 

“What?” Ricky turns to her.

The redhead shakes her head. “Someone find me a screwdriver…” 

“We’re gonna go get lunch,” Nini announces, turning sideways and shuffling around the stuck table while Ashlyn removes the legs and mumbles about the general incompetence of men. Gina follows behind her, car keys in hand. 

“Soy cheese?” Big Red asks hopefully. 

“And gluten-free crust,” Gina confirms.

Nini sidles up to Ricky and his arm instinctively winds its way around her waist, drawing her closer. With the chaos of the move, it occurs to her that she’s barely said a word to him all day. She looks up at him now and sees he’s beaming back at her.

“Can you believe it?” he murmurs. “We’ve got a place. Like, this is  _ our  _ place,” he says. The giddy, child-like awe in his voice makes her light up. He’s never looked more beautiful, she decides, even with his tired eyes and sweat-matted hair and a small patch of stubble to the left of his chin that he missed while shaving. 

“Okay, lovebirds, I hate to break this up but Big Red’s whining and Carlos is hangry,” Gina interrupts, grabbing hold of Nini’s arm and pulling her towards her car good-naturedly. “You’ll have plenty of time for all of this later.” 

Nini rolls her eyes good-naturedly but allows herself to be dragged away while Ricky reaches out for her dramatically. She’s grateful for Gina. She’s grateful for her humor and her understanding. She’s grateful that she moved back to Utah for law school when she could have easily remained in New Orleans. She’s grateful that out of all the places she could have gone - of all the places she’s lived and all the options she had - Gina chose to come home to their friends. Now that they’re both back in Salt Lake City with places of their own, she can’t wait for the late-night self-care sessions with face masks and white wine and girl talk. She can’t wait for spontaneous lunches and the pleasant surprise of running into each other in the grocery store. And she’s reminded in that moment that she’s gained a lot more with this apartment than a home with Ricky. She’s gained a home for her friends, a place to gather and laugh and spend far too long reminiscing. 

* * *

They each find their own niches and ways to contribute to making the apartment come together. EJ and Ricky do their best to assemble furniture pieces, and Ashlyn follows them with a screwdriver, tightening screws and double-checking their work. Kourtney and Gina begin unpacking and organizing the closets, arranging every piece of clothing by color. Carlos unpacks cups and pots, singing “Be Our Guest” over and over as he hands each item to Seb to stow in the cabinets. Big Red unpacks the electronics, untangling cords and carefully labeling everything as he plugs each device into the wall. 

Nini floats back and forth, unable to choose one thing to focus on. She unfolds a dress and passes it to Kourtney. She carefully removes the bubble wrap from a mug and hands it to Seb. She takes the screwdriver from Ricky and puts together one side of the desk, kissing his cheek when he grouses about how much better she is at it. The apartment unfolds before her eyes, and she marvels at how full it becomes. Full of furniture. Full of her things and Ricky’s, coming together for the first time. Full of voices and laughter and sound and life. 

* * *

By 4 PM, their friends start to filter through the door with smiles and hugs and murmurs of congratulations and promises to come and visit soon. Ricky stands at the entrance, one arm around Nini as they watch Big Red make his way down the stairs and out to the parking lot. A deep, contented exhaustion fills him, permeating his bones as he gently closes the front door.

Sunlight streams through the newly-hung curtains, gauzy and semi-transparent, flecking the living room in gold. Dust particles hang like ghosts in the air. If he could, Ricky would pause time and live in this moment forever: the soft quiet that blankets the room, the way Nini is lit up by the rays of the sun, the dreamy haze of fatigue that envelops them both, and the striking realization that this is apartment is theirs alone - an inviolable sanctuary. 

Music floats through the floor from the record shop, muffled but still clear. Elvis’s voice croons, deep and silky, from below. 

_ Wise men say only fools rush in _ _  
_ _ But I can’t help falling in love with you _

Ricky isn’t one to believe in signs, but even he has to admit that the moment is too perfect to be a coincidence. He smiles at Nini, and she smiles back radiantly. And then he holds out his hand. “May I have this dance?” 

A giggle bubbles up from the back of Nini’s throat, elated and surprised and giddy. She places her smaller hand in his palm, her touch feather-light. He closes his fingers around hers and draws her close, his free hand coming to rest at the small of her back as they sway back and forth, circling around the living room and dodging the remaining boxes.

His eyes find hers, and the feeling that wells up within Ricky at that moment is a mixture of awe, delight, and adoration. “I love you, Nini,” he murmurs as the song comes to an end.

“I love you, too,” she replies, rising on her tiptoes to kiss his lips softly. 

* * *

Nini slips into the bedroom in a pair of shorts and Ricky’s t-shirt, baggy and oversized on her petite frame. The majority of their things have been unpacked thanks to their friends, but a few boxes remain scattered across the floor and she weaves her way through them to join Ricky, who is already reclining on the far side of the bed by the window.

They’ve never had to choose a side of the bed before. Ricky’s bed was a twin, which meant they didn’t sleep beside each other so much as on top of each other, and by the time their high school relationship had progressed to the point that Ricky could stay the night, Nini’s side was already firmly established. Ricky’s run the calculations in his own head, though he feels dumb for doing it. Salt Lake City is a safe place, and this is a safe neighborhood. The greatest threat posed to them would be a fire. He chooses the side of the bed furthest from the door. If they need to get out, he would rather Nini be closest to the exit. 

Nini slides into bed beside him, her bare legs dragging over the cool comforter as she worms her way into his arms. He smiles softly down at her and gently sweeps a tendril of her hair from her eyes. She doesn’t blush the way she used to when the callused tips of his fingers brush against her cheek. His touch is familiar and comforting by now. But her heart still flutters and she’s struck by the thought that this is the culmination of so many years of wistful dreaming and one-day-we’ll-be-together promises. This moment: the way Ricky’s long, dark eyelashes flutter as he shifts his gaze towards her, the cool, icy smell of his shower gel, the warmth that radiates off his body like a space heater, and the companionable silence that fills the air of their newly-painted, newly-established bedroom is the fulfilment of those promises.

How many nights did she spend in LA, staring out of her dorm room window and longing for this day? How many times did Ricky stay up well past midnight, plucking listlessly at his guitar and singing songs to the moon in the hopes that it would relay the message to her? How many times did they fall asleep while FaceTiming, placing their phones on the pillows beside them because it was the closest thing to sleeping next to one another? Now, all Ricky needs to do is reach out to feel her. All Nini needs to do is turn around to curl into his side. 

The light is still on, and neither of them is under the covers yet, but the sleepiness sets in quickly. “Welcome home, love,” Ricky murmurs sleepily into her hair, tightening his grip around her. Nini feels her eyelids start to flutter shut. Her heart swells within her chest because at long last, she’s made it home. Home to Salt Lake City. Home to her family and friends. Home to this apartment. And home to Ricky Bowen.

**Author's Note:**

> And there it is. What did you think? I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback. Like I said, what started as a short oneshot just grew and grew. There's a lot going on in the world right now. I hope you're all doing alright, and know that you can reach out to me, too, if you need to talk. I plan to keep writing and updating Do You Hear The People Sing as often as I can find the time - we all need an escape every now and again for our own sanity. Look for that update soon. Please stay safe and remember to look after yourself and those around you.


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